Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 05 (15 page)

“Okay, I just went completely deaf.”

“Come on, man, I’m worried.”

Wesley lost the poker hand he’d been playing and set his

jaw in frustration. “The only way your tool wil shrink is if

you’re doing steroids. Are you?”

Chance scratched his beer gut. “No.”

Wesley took in his friend’s white flabby body. “Shocking.

But that means you’re fine.”

“’Roids make your dick shrink?”

“Your balls, actually.”

“Dude, how do you know all this shit? You should go on

Jeopardy or something.”

“And you should read a book once in a while.”

Chance laughed. “Why, when I can just ask you stuff?

Having you around here is like having a search engine on

the couch.”

“Thanks,” he said drily.

“Wait a minute—if I shrink my balls, won’t my dick look

bigger?”

“You’re wearing me out, man.”

Chance pointed a meaty finger. “While we’re talking about

schlongs, smarty-pants, that Oxy wil mess with yours.

That’s why I steer clear of the stuff.”

Wesley frowned. “I’m cool.”

“For now. You keep eating them like candy, you’re going to

be serving boneless pork to the ladies, you get my drift?”

“How about I worry about my pork, and you worry about

yours?”

“I’m just saying, man. Ease up before it gets away from

you.”

Wesley gritted his teeth against a throbbing headache. He

needed a hit right now and was playing a poker video

game to keep his hands from shaking. “Why don’t you go

put on some clothes.”

Chance shot him the bird, but walked toward his bedroom.

“I’m working on getting you into another card game,” he

called over his shoulder.

Another game would be nice, Wes conceded. To try to win

back some of the cash that lunatic Michael Lane had stolen

from his room. He’d had plans for that money. It was

supposed to have made things better for his sister—pay

for some upgrades around the house and replace her car.

All those things would have to wait until he got lucky

again.

Wesley turned back to the video-poker game, but he had

trouble focusing. He took off his glasses and rubbed his

eyes, then tried again. But his reaction time was slow, and

twice he mistook one card suit for another one. He cursed

and tossed aside the control er, then stood and paced, his

mind bouncing al over the place, from E.’s engagement to

her thug boyfriend, to the identity of the decapitated man

in the morgue, to the kil er who was stalking the city.

When he got shaky, his mind turned to Meg Vincent for

some reason, as if she was something he could anchor his

thoughts to. Then he grunted and pul ed at his zipper—at

least his dick was stil working.

From his backpack, his personal cel phone rang. He pul ed

it out, but the cal was from an unknown source. Wes

frowned, then answered, “Yeah.”

“Is this Wesley Wren?” The voice was male, relatively

young and thick with a country twang.

“Who’s this?”

“Kendall Abrams.”

“Who?”

“My uncle is the chief M.E. at the county morgue.”

“Oh, right. You’re working with Coop?”

“Yeah. We got a pickup, but Coop isn’t answering his

phone. My uncle says you and me can go, if that’s awright

with you.”

Jesus, the guy sounded like a hayseed. “Sure.” Wes gave

him the address of the condo building. “What are you

driving?”

“One of the morgue’s vans. See you in a few.”

Wesley disconnected the call, uneasy about the fact that

Coop wasn’t answering his phone. He tried to reach him,

too, just in case, but Coop wasn’t picking up. Was the

pressure of working with Abrams at the lab getting to him?

It was obvious to anyone that the men had history.

It also occurred to Wesley, though, that the prospect of

moving bodies had a lot less appeal if he wasn’t with Coop.

Or Carlotta…or even Hannah. Without them, it was just a

job. And not a very pleasant one.

Chance came back into the living room. To his shorts-and-

socks ensemble he had added a towel around his neck.

“Want to order Chinese?”

“I have to go.”

“To pick up a dead person?”

“Yeah,” Wesley said, fishing an Oxy tablet out of his pack

and tossing it back.

“Wel , at least you won’t need your dick for that,” Chance

said.

Wesley snapped, irritated at the interruption to his chew-

buzz. “Shut up, dude. I got this under control.”

Chance made a clicking noise with his chubby cheek.

“That’s what they all say.”

Wesley swung his backpack to his shoulder and stalked to

the door, ignoring his friend. He could quit the Oxy

anytime he wanted to. He just didn’t want to tonight.

13

Carlotta sipped from her wineglass as she strol ed beside

the tables featuring items up for bid in the silent auction.

There were ski packages to Vail, Broadway packages to

Manhattan, spa vacations to the wine country, gambling

junkets to Vegas, cooking lessons in Paris, and sailing

adventures in the Caribbean. To her dismay, Peter had bid

on almost every trip for two on offer. She looked up and

spotted him a few yards away chatting amiably with some

guy whose name she couldn’t recall. After a while, the

faces and names all ran together.

She scanned other items up for auction—jewelry, art,

sporting events—but her mind was elsewhere. She kept

one eye on the kitchen entrance where Hannah had

disappeared a few minutes ago and hadn’t returned.

When Bebe Plank’s purse hadn’t turned up, the police had

been summoned, but Carlotta knew how things worked in

these environments enough to know that the police

wouldn’t have made themselves known to guests. Instead,

the cops would be shepherded into a private room, and

have suspects delivered to them.

Or in this case, suspect, as in singular.

From inside Carlotta’s bag, her cel phone rang. She

reached in and felt around the stun baton to pul out the

phone. Wesley’s name scrol ed onto the display.

She connected the call and covered her ear. “Wes?”

“Hey, sis, are you busy?”

She looked around the packed ballroom. “That depends.

What’s up?”

“I’m on a body run and I could use a little help.”

“Are you alone?”

“Uh—almost. And the house is in Buckhead.” He gave her

the address.

“That’s not too far from Peter’s neighborhood,” she

mused. “What happened?”

“No specifics. But the chief M.E. is already on the scene, so

I get the feeling that it’s big. Are you in?”

Another victim of The Charmed Kil er? She weighed the

experience of picking up a dead body against spending the

rest of the evening at the charity auction. Fake laughter

burst out behind her, making her wince.

“Sis?”

“I’m in,” she said. “Pick me up in front of the Bedford

Manor Country Club.”

“Okay. We’l be there in ten minutes in a morgue van.”

She disconnected the call and glanced at Peter across the

room, stil talking to Mr. Generic. Peter had been so good

to her. She was probably going to regret this.

Resolved, she drained her glass of wine, then headed

toward the kitchen. A man wearing an employee name tag

stepped in her path. “May I help you, ma’am?”

Carlotta held up her glass. “Just looking for a refil .”

“Our bar is over there,” he said, nodding. “Or any of the

servers on the floor can help you.”

She smiled. “Get out of my way.”

He held out his arm. “Ma’am, I can’t let you go back

there.”

“I’ve already zapped two guys with a stun baton this

week,” she said, patting her bag. “But I don’t mind going

for a personal best if you don’t.”

He dropped his arm. Carlotta pushed through the swinging

doors that led to the kitchen area, her head pivoting, ears

perked.

“I didn’t do it!” came the sound of Hannah’s voice behind

an office door left ajar.

Carlotta headed toward the door and flung it open.

Hannah stood in a makeshift office/storeroom, her

expression defiant. Bebe Plank and Tracey Lowenstein

stood there and from their haughty stance, Carlotta

suspected they had initiated the interrogation. A male

uniformed police officer stood nearby, eyeing the tall

Hannah warily. A block-shouldered guy was apparently

leading the questioning.

They all turned toward her when she walked in.

“Carlotta?” the blocky guy said, his voice loaded with

surprise.

Recognition hit her. “Herb.” Her rent-a-cop from the store.

“Do you work here at the club?”

“I got two kids in col ege,” he offered with a shrug. “Are

you a member?”

“A guest. And I was sitting at the table when Ms. Plank’s

purse went missing. I can vouch for Ms. Kizer—she didn’t

take it.”

“This woman is not a member of the club,” Tracey said,

gesturing to Carlotta. “She’s obviously covering for her

thuggy friend who was hovering over Bebe’s purse just

before it went missing. No one else could’ve taken it.”

Carlotta’s mouth tightened. “Hannah is a friend of mine,

and she’d never steal. Anyone could’ve taken it when the

lights were down for the film.”

“Even you,” Tracey said.

Carlotta gritted her teeth, but didn’t respond.

Herb turned to Carlotta. “You say you know this woman

wel ?”

“Yes. For many years.”

“Does your friend live around here?” he asked.

She looked at Hannah, panicked by the thought that she

didn’t really know where Hannah lived. “Uh…yes. In the

area.”

“With my parents,” Hannah supplied. “On West Paces

Ferry.”

Carlotta tried to hide her surprise. West Paces Ferry was

one of the most expensive zip codes in the county.

“I don’t believe you,” Tracey said, her voice scornful.

Hannah’s eyes narrowed, then she removed a wallet from

her back pocket, removed her driver’s license and thrust it

toward Herb.

“West Paces Ferry address,” he confirmed.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Tracey insisted.

“Why would I steal a damn purse?” Hannah asked.

“For the money,” Tracey said. “You couldn’t make much as

a server.”

“Not when everyone tips as badly as you do,” Hannah

offered.

“Hannah has another job,” Carlotta cut in. “We work

together.”

“At Neiman Marcus?” Herb asked.

“Uh…no. We have a side…thing.” Carlotta dazzled him with

a smile. “In fact, we were just called out on a job. So I’m

afraid we have to leave.”

“What kind of job?” Tracey demanded.

Carlotta swal owed hard. Tel ing Tracey about her part-

time gig would be the equivalent of announcing it in the

Peach Buzz section of the AJC. “For…the morgue,” she said

warily, then rummaged in her wallet and came up with the

lanyard ID that gained her entrance to crime scenes and

other places where dead bodies lay in wait. “Hannah and I

are body movers, and this is an emergency.”

Tracey looked horrified. “You move dead people?”

Hannah fished out her morgue ID and they both handed

the cards to Herb. He and the uniform looked them over,

then handed them back with a nod.

Herb faced Tracey and Bebe. “Ladies, it’s your word

against Ms. Kizer’s. No one saw her take the bag, and she

doesn’t have it on her.”

“She could’ve put it on the cart she was using.”

“The cart was searched, ma’am. I think we’re done here.”

“Let’s go,” Carlotta said to Hannah.

They left with the protests of Tracey and Bebe fol owing

them like a cloud.

“Thanks,” Hannah muttered. “Are we really going out on a

job?”

“Assuming you can get away.”

“Are you kidding?” Hannah reached around to untie her

apron. “I’m so out of here.”

On the way back through the ballroom, Carlotta scanned

the crowd for Peter. When he looked up and saw her

coming, he smiled. But his smile dimmed when he saw

Hannah with her.

“Having a good time?” he asked, his voice tentative.

“Yes,” Carlotta said. “But Wesley needs our help with

something, so I have to step out for a little while.”

Peter’s face darkened. “More body moving? I thought we

agreed you wouldn’t be doing this anymore.”

“I’l be back before you miss me,” she assured him with a

pat. “Have fun and don’t worry.” She had to tug her hand

free and tried to tamp down the guilt she felt as she

turned away. But she couldn’t deny the excitement

coursing through her veins.

“Leaving so soon?”

Carlotta looked up to see Rainie Stephens standing there,

her eyebrows raised, no doubt along with her journalistic

curiosity.

Carlotta shrugged careful y. “I left something at home. I’l

be back.”

“Good,” Rainie said. “Because I’d like to talk to you about

The Charmed Kil er case.” A phone rang and Rainie

reached for her purse.

Carlotta backed away—she could guess what the call was

about. “Let’s go,” she whispered to Hannah.

They trotted to the front door of the building, and out into

the thick summer night. After the cloying atmosphere of